


Stranded || Jack Sparrow

by shawtygirl0513



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Drunk Jack Sparrow, F/M, Jack being Jack, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawtygirl0513/pseuds/shawtygirl0513
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow never exactly told the truth about what happened when he was on that island, with that one bullet.He didn't talk a mighty load about it, not only because it was that horrible, but because it was a... new experience, let's say.
Relationships: Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Jack Sparrow & Original Character(s), Jack Sparrow/Original Character(s), Jack Sparrow/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

"Go on, jump."

Captain Jack Sparrow grits his teeth as he walks onto the bit of wood, heels clicking and swaying slightly. He tries his best to give them a leisure smile, while in all reality he is frothing with anger inside. He wants nothing more than to shoot them all up, and maybe quench his thirst with a bit of rum (rum always goes right) but unfortunately, those damned pirates are too indecent to allow him rum.

He wants rum.

He grins brightly at them, walking backwards, and flashes his used-to-be-crew a bit of his gold teeth. He ought to never trust no one, he knew that- he must have been out of his mind to share such valuable information!

Or just drunk, maybe. Drunk works too.

Cursing, Jack pats his body down for anything that can help him, but alas, the only good thing is his hat. Not even his things.

The monkey screeches at him.

"How about this," He says, trying for a nice smile, "Can I at least take the monkey so I can drag him down to the very depths of hell or wherever you want to go? Savvy?"

Barbossa laughs. I'm afraid not, mate."

He tries for _indifferent._ "Oh. All right. At least the idiots?"

"Which ones?" His former friend spreads his arms and lets out a throaty laugh.

Jack laughs along. "Ahahahahahah! Very funny! Now can I have my ship back?" He asks, as nicely as he can.

He grins. "Not sorry at all, mate."

"You double-crossing-" He gives them a few words to suggest how grateful he feels. Because, after all, he is a nice captain, and he appreciates his fellow pirates.

The traitorous scum just looks at him with amusement. "You can't talk no one out of this, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. Your days are over. Have a nice death!"

The pirates howl and cheer after him, and he registers something flying by his left- his things!

_Dammit._

Jack turns back towards them. "Now, now, fellas-"

And then he is _so rudely_ cut off by someone stepping on the board. His eyes widen as he goes airborne for a moment- then he's brought back, falling towards the sea. He manages to turn himself and straighten his body, like an arrow.

The sea draws nearer, looking hungrier and hungrier as it reaches out to draw him in and-

_FWOOMP!_

He takes a deep breath as he slices into the currents. It's mighty cold but he doesn't have any time to worry about that- anything can be of use when he's on the island. Diving deeper, he catches sight of his possessions and hurriedly grab ahold of them.

_There!_ Trying to catch his bearings, he heads towards his best guess of where an island is, and gives a nice strong kick back up towards the surface. The waters glitter with light with each movement, and soon his head bursts above the water. Captain Sparrow gasps as he shakes his wet locks, spotting the island. He begins to swim towards it, one hand clutching his valuables to his chest dearly.

Above him, he can hear the pirates cheering for blood. For his blood. He _really_ wishes he is equipped with something, anything, really.

He is just about to turn back to yell something that shouts _I don't care_ and would be mighty good words for his grave, when there is a small _pew_ and a shock of pain is registered in his side, or to be more specific- his right navel.

"Bloody-" He swallows a mouthful of seawater and chokes. "-hell!"

The cheering grows louder, but he has no choice but to swim before whatever else happens to him. He paddles towards the shore and is relieved when his feet hit sand. He pulls himself up into a standing position and briefly checks for his valuables- they're all there, thankfully- and wade towards the shore as fast as he can.

He's never been more glad for land, so that he can dry off, try to find some rum, and sleep. The sun is scorching hot on his back, especially so since the wetness is making his shirt stick to him, and he tries to ignore how everything seems to get heavier. He's been through worse wounds than this.

He turns around, after a bit of doubt. The _Black Pearl_ is just a speck in the horizon now, and he spits out a few words of remorse just to tell himself how much of lying, filthy cheaters they are. He wants to relieve some stress- drinking rum, pretty girls, and going off on adventures pretty much does it half the time- but he's out of adventures, and he's pretty sure deserted islands aren't supposed to have pretty girls.

So Jack Sparrow goes looking for rum.

He has very little doubt there will be rum- this is what he's thinking, as he wades up on the shore- because, of course, there is rum everywhere.

The captain- former captain, he must say- shakes the wetness off everything, rinses everything in seawater, and puts everything in their rightful place; his guns, his sword, and oh, yes, his hat.

But as he puts on his sword, he feels the sting again in his side, and it is enhanced by the salt water dripping off of him.

What is it? A jellyfish? A catfish? He grits his teeth and fumbles with the strings, his big clumsy fingers trying to untie the knot to no avail. It takes difficult, hot time, but he finally gets it, and his fingers scrabble for the fabric, pushing it aside to reveal-

A gunshot wound.

He curses, loudly, but it doesn't matter. Trapped on a deserted island with no food or water, only his things? That's one story.

Trapped on a deserted island with a gunshot wound?

That's another.

He's soon to be dead. They really want him dead, don' they? Really, he supposes this can't be helped. He's just too charming.

Not that anyone will know. He curses again and again, ignoring the way he's bleeding out, or the way he seems to grow weaker and weaker with every stomp. He needs rum. That's the cure for all unfortunacies, everything that makes him angry or sad. He needs rum.

Which he doesn't have either, dammit!

He can feel the blood seeping out further and further, dripping onto the ground, and reluctantly he presses his hands tight on the would, hissing through his teeth. That'll stench the blood for a while. Not as good as cloth or bandages, but it'll do.

But it won't matter, not really, if he can't get the bullet out of the wound. He _could_ dig it out with his knife, but then he'd bleed to death on the beach, and his side is burning as the bullet shifts inside of him. It's still _in_ the wound, bloody hell. He moves a little, and there's another sting in his side, much more painful this time.

"Well," He yells at the horizon, furious that they didn't even give him rum, "Fine! I suppose Captain Jack Sparrow's just going to go to hell, then! You double-crossed a pirate! Well bloody done!"

He stomps over to a clearing, where a shade is, and begins to slice at the tree- he needs something to take his anger out on. Not that he's angry often, it's just that-

"You didn't even leave me with _rum!_ Oh, what remorseless pirates!" He staggers over to the horizon and gives the sea the rudest gesture he knows. He went through hell and back, even beat Davy Jones' locker, to die on an abandoned island. Where's the fun in that?

Nothing! Absolutely nothing!

Not even rum!

* * *

Jack Sparrow lies in the shade, indifferently looking out to sea. The throbbing has decreased a little, he must say, but only because he's most likely dying. He has calmed down.

And, he must say, he is slightly embarrassed by that breakdown.

Ah, so that's what he gets without a little rum in his system. At least he didn't do it in front of a pretty girl.

Sighing, he looks out to sea. The tree is in an incredibly poor state, probably from all that kicking and slashing it got, so he apologizes to the tree, sincerely, and leans back on it, out to sea. It's a mighty good view, he supposes, if he weren't all throbby from the pain.

He would kill for some rum, he supposes, as his stomach grumbles at him. Even those horrible biscuits. Even those damned apples.

He stands up, then, with a daft idea in his head. Fruit. He looks up, and sure enough, there are several coconuts sitting at the very top. He counts three. There could be more. He draws his gun, about to shoot them down, then realizes, with a jolt, that he only has one bullet. Savvy. He'll have to climb.

Idly he begins to climb the tree. It's a little roughed up, but he uses the scars as hand-and-footholds, reaching higher and higher towards the top, where several coconuts are resting.

If he can't have rum, coconut is good enough. Not that he likes coconut, just that the lack of rum in his system has brought him to be slightly delirious. It's that-

Fine, he's a little thirsty.

Though he wishes the monkey actually followed his orders, that bloody thing; it never listens. Always stealing his hat, never listening to the captain. He would like to lock it in a cage somewhere, and shoot it in the head. With those happy thoughts in mind, he climbs a bit more.

He is a little unsteady as he goes up the tree. Still, it is marvelous news! It means that he has a bit of rum in his system.

He hums, a little, that pirate song, and begin to climb the tree, those damned fruits just a hair's breadth away-

And then he loses his hold.

The brave and valiant (self-proclaimed, of course) Captain Jack Sparrow lets out a hoarse shout as he plummets towards the ground, landing on his injured side with a grunt. Stars flash across his vision and he feels worse than that time he had that damned knife wound.

But there is something even more shocking to his system, a moment later.

A pair of bare feet step next to him- beautiful feet, he must say- and he rolls over with a groan.

A girl looks down at him, and crosses her arms. He is so close to losing it he can almost count the strands of hair falling away from the way she's tied her hair in a half-up half-down style that, he must say, is awfully pretty-

"What the bloody feckin' hell did you do to my coconut tree, you ruffian?" She snaps.

"Hello, luv." He says. Then his eyes roll up to his head, he succumbs to the pain, and he is unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

The island hadn't been bad for the past two weeks. She should know, she'd been counting.

Of course, she had bad days. Cursing sessions when she stood on the beach and yelled at sea, at the stupid idiots, at everyone. She had urges to fire at everything and at everyone. She wants so, so, desperately to go back to mainland.

But still, it hasn't been bad. Pretty good, actually, better than what anyone would expect from a deserted island. She'd built shelter (a small clearing in the woods, complete with everything she needs) she'd had a fire, found hunt, learnt how to make water from seawater (boil it- duh!), and, of course, she'd gone stargazing, which had just been _astounding._

Yet she still misses Britain. Too much, she'd think.

Normally, she's not one who likes mainland. Her pleasures include pirating, sparring on deck, and the likes. Anything mischievous that causes her a lot of trouble, really. She _loves_ making trouble.

A real-life Robin Hood, if you will, one that scavenges the seas. Her place is at sea, where the fresh spray of seawater can lighten her face better than any kind of makeup the idiots on Britain can invent.

But now? Now she wants nothing more than to go back to her father, even if she has to get an earful of _where-have-you-been-Amanda-Swann-we-all-thought-you-were-dead-but-at-least-you're-alive-but-still-change-out-of-these-clothes-you-look-horrible._

Though maybe she _should_ have listened to him. It'd been disappointing to watch her own crew turn on her and throw her overboard.

But that had been her fault, she supposed. She'd trusted too much, and learnt the hard way that that hadn't been the way to live life, especially for a pirate.

But enough of that sappy contemplating-the-past moments.

She huffs, blowing a strand of black hair from her face (streaked with blonde, of course) and roll her shoulders, shrugging the string of birds further up her shoulder and also unsticking the drenched shirt from her back. She doesn't know what the bloody hell these... _birds_ were doing here, but it's a nice bit of meat and frankly, she could use some meat.

Because, to hell with anything else, who doesn't like meat?

Sighing, she trekks along the small pathway she's cleared. The first time she'd burst through here, it had been more than unpleasant: saltwater stinging her eyes, her knife drawn at every and any sound, desperately searching for a place to be. Her heart had been broken, her body too, and she'd been half out of her mind. But she'd managed to nurse herself back to health, hadn't she?

Her foot steps across the line she's drawn in the dirt, and she heaves the giant brutes off her shoulder. She's stepped across to the cliff.

The cliff, or what she likes to call affectionately, "The bloody feckin' cliff", is a stone jutting out from the edge of the island. It's hidden by trees, mostly, but rather clear, and one can see all the way across the Caribbean from the top. Which is to say, stretches and stretches of open sea. She'd decided, last week, that this had been the best place to make camp, and had moved from her original spot, a makeshift spot in the shore.

She's just about to turn around and head back to the wood for some jolly gathering of coconut, when you catch sight of a speck in the ocean-

But it _can't be._

Her eyes are wide and she quickly draws out her brass telescope, placing it on her eye.

_Please, please, please, please, please-_

She prays to god as she sweeps the horizon for the ship, and finds it. It's... completely black, and sails hang from their masts like seaweed, swaying in the wind. It's a bit... how do you call it?

It's very strange, and not in a good way.

Shivering slightly, she watches as the ship gets closer. She knows she should try to make as big as a fire as possible, scream for help, but why does her instincts warn her against the very thing? Why, for godforsaken sake, does she feel like she need to stay hidden?

The ship comes closer.

_Oh. THAT'S why._

The ship's mast has a giant skull-and-crossbones emblem on it. Her mouth opens and closes, unable to shout, to scream, to do anything.

A pirate ship.

See, just because she's a pirate, doesn't necessarily mean she wants to attract the attention of one. There isn't a rule that says most pirates have to be nice towards each other. Pirates fight, pirates befriend, pirates die. They're ruthless creatures, pirates.

She's less than eager, too, especially since most pirates are men. She's had more than a few experiences with other crew, most of which just _love_ bedding women. And trust her when she says she has no intention of getting raped by a bunch of slimy maggots.

Dammit, the first ship that finds her, and it's a pirate ship. She have a sneaking suspicion of seeing the ship somewhere before.

But that does't matter What does is that that ship is dangerously close to _your_ island, and is ready to come aboard _your_ shores. If they come, you can't go down without a fight.

She searches whatever possessions she has. There's her knife and sword, of course, which she straps to her belt. There's her gun (only one bullet), her pot, which is full of water so will not be risked, and a spear she's sharpened to cutting-edge from wood. She's working on whetting a bow and making some arrows, but they're not finished, so she just take whatever she has at the moment and heads towards the bottom, as silently as she can, occasionally looking through her telescope.

Then- what's happening?

Her eyes are wide as she watches the scene through her telescope, the vision blurry but still recognizable. You see the plank, and a splash, and there are rippling currents. You can see someone swimming.

Towards the shore.

Towards _your_ shores.

Her eyes are wide. What is happening? What's wrong? Why is he swimming?

She watches as he leaves a trail of blood in the ocean, wading towards the shore. He's hurt. She can see that.

The problem is, should she trust him?

Though she can't see him from this far away, as she treks through the woods and get closer, she can see he has the general look of a ruffian that many experiences with her father has taught her- the hooded eyes, the braids of hair, the staggering of someone who's more than just a little drunk.

Someone who's drunk, looks like a ruffian, and, oh, has a sword by his side. Very nice. She glances towards the clearing of trees on the shore- now she can't even get her coconuts! That's grand. Absolutely. Wow.

With curious eyes, though, she watches as he kicks at the air and screams at the sky. She'll have to watch until she can determine he's safe.

* * *

She grits her teeth, trying not to step into the clearing and see what the mysterious man is doing.

Inside she's just burning with curiosity, but the problem is that if she can see him, he can most likely see her, and he has a gun- although, she thinks, he probably only has one bullet in that chamber of his.

But that does't mean she can't hear what he's saying, but she almost wishes she can't- this is horrible, not knowing what he's doing. So far she's heard him swear so hard her maid would wash her mouth with soap, scream at the sky, yell, "RUM!" and fall to the sand several times. It's just stupid, and she's starting to feel more than a little sorry for the poor man. It's almost like he's-

"I'm sorry." He says, sincerely, his voice full of emotions. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done. You deserve better." There's a _thunk,_ and the sound of poofing sand makes her even more confused.

She stops, pausing from rewrapping her hand in bandages. She wraps them around, as quickly as she can, and head towards the clearing. He's been suspiciously silent, she can tell him that.

Drawing herself from out of the woods, she unsheathes her knife and heads towards him, as silently as possible, but when she peels your eyes up from the ground, she stops.

What the fu-

The last thing she can register, before the man falls, is that he's _climbing_ her tree. Without a rope. And that there are gashes in her tree.

She stops in front of his splayed body, crossing her arms, and looks down at him. Leaving blood and scaring away the fish, she can forgive. Yelling at the sky, she can forgive. Stranded on her island, she can forgive. All in all, she's glad for at least some company.

But-

"What the bloody feckin' hell did you do to my coconut tree, you ruffian?" She yells.

It comes out a bit harsher than she means to, but hey, it was a nice coconut tree.

The man looks up at her bent form, and grins.

"Hello, luv." He mumbles, and to her utter confusion, passes out.

"What the-" She kneels down next to him, on the sand. It's the first human face she's seen in two weeks, and no one can blame her for being at least a little reproachful- but she gathers up the courage, and takes his face in her hands, very carefully.

When she does that? She realizes he's actually not a bad-looking guy.

In fact, he's quite handsome.

She leans down over him, more in curiosity than anything else, so that her hair falls over them in a curtain and their noses are almost touching. Examining every detail.

He looks to be about in his late twenties. If she was to guess, about twenty-eight. His skin is oddly dark, like that of someone who's been under the sun for too long, but it matches with the rest of him beautifully- his dark locks, which are braided and tucked into a bandanna tucked into a captain's hat, his beard, which are beaded and coiled.

She leans away in slight embarrassment. Just because a man's unconscious doesn't give her the right to look at him like that! Just because she's forgone male contact for the last two weeks, or in her life, doesn't mean she can suddenly be like this. Hell, she does't usually go _near_ them at all, unless they're her crew and she knows she can throw them overboard any time she wants to.

He groans a little, clutching his side. Why is he doing that?

She slips her fingers beneath his and carefully pry away his fingers, very much _not_ noticing how much his large hands contrast with her smaller, nimbler ones, or the way how the jewelry fits him very well. But her blood runs cold when she manage to clear his side for sight, because there's a dark river of blood, gushing out of his side like he's been punctured with a goddamn harpoon.

Bloody hell.

It's been ages since she's seen a bullet wound, so she's not sure she can fix this. She still has to try, though- scrabbling away at his dress shirt, she works away at the stiff buttons and manages to pop them out. She takes a deep breath.

_Oh, I'm not going to like this._

Her eyes wide, she slowly puts her hands on his bare skin and pushes away the fabric. He's very tanned, this she can give him, and he's very lean. Her fingers skim over his muscular stomach until she reaches the wound, which is, to her horror-

A gunshot wound.

"If you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked, luv." A thick accent mumbles beneath her, and she yelps, drawing her hands away from her body and scrambling away as quickly as she can.

"I wasn't- you weren't- why-" She punches the sand next to her. "Agh! Where you awake the whole time?"

"Woke up jus' when you were staring at my face." He laughs. "Gotta say, that's not a bad way to wake up, luv."

"You- you were awake, and you knew, and you let me- let me-" She splutters. "Who the hell even are you?"

He gives you a look. "Tell me you don't know who I am, luv."

She glares. "I don't know who you are."

"Captain Jack Sparrow."

Her eyes widen and she backtracks a few steps. This man- this- this- this _ruffian_ is Jack Sparrow? _The_ Jack Sparrow? Captain of the legendary ship, the _Black Pearl?_

What is _wrong_ with her life?!

Scrambling up, she paces the shore and proceeds to fumble with everything and anything. Untying and retying the bandages on her hands, tucking and untucking her shirt, rolling up her sleeves.

She needs to get rid of this frustration.

"You- _you_ are Jack Sparrow? _You?_ You look like a... like a...like a male escort!"

He gives you a look.

"I can't believe I- I _admired_ you! Me and Lizzie, always, lying in bed whispering those goddamn tales about you, wishing we were like you, wishing we could _meet_ you! And I finally meet you and you're this... this drunkard in a bandanna!" She kicks the nearest tree, sending coconuts raining down. "Bloody hell! Mother of a kraken! Go back to Davy Jones' locker!"

"That's nice and all, luv," He says, calmly, "But if you haven' noticed," He gestures to his wound.

_"And_ you scared all the fish away! There'll probably be _sharks!_ " She snaps. When one thinks of the infamous Jack Sparrow, they think of swinging ropes, a handsome man, knows everything. This idiot on the beach is doing _nothing!_

"Very nice. I suppose I'll just bleed to death."

"I _suppose_ I have to help you now, that's what you're expecting?"

"Well, you _could_ help me in more ways than one, luv-" He eyes her up and down, rather appreciatively. She kicks his leg and huffs, walking up to the beach, and kicks the waves.

"Damn you! TAKE HIM BACK!" She screams. "I would rather be _alone_ than with this BLOODY IDIOT! TAKE HIM BACK, DAMN YOU!"

"Calm down, luv."

"I'm _not_ calming down! _Don't_ tell me to calm down!" She storms back over to him. This is _exactly_ why she's avoided men for so long. Abominable creatures, so idiotic, so horribly full of _lust_ but nothing else- all in all just wastes of space.

And this man here- this _jerk,_ is an embodiment of everything she hates: flirty, arrogant, uselessly charming and handsome with a shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

"Well, that would be grand and all, but as you can see I'm dying."

_"I'm Jack Sparrow and I'm dying."_ She mimics, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. _"You're entitled to help me._ Fine! Fine! Can you stand up?" She looks down at him and feels a twinge of sympathy for the half-dead man next to her- sure, he's infuriating and much, much lower than expectations, but he's still a _human._ A half dead one, too.

He looks down and pushes himself up with his hands, wincing as he does so. His arms buckle and he's about to fall down when she grabs hold of him, slipping her arms beneath his arms and helping him up, her breath hitting his slightly damp shirt- "C'mon."

"I wouldn't mind staying like this for a moment longer, luv." He smirks and she notices how, in order to keep him upright, her body is pressed up against his as closely as it can get; heat flaring up in her cheeks, she moves sideways so that one arm is slung around her shoulders and he is stumbling with her.

_Left, right. Left, right._ She is trying to grasp the rhythm of her steps but the man besides her is too distracting; he stomps whichever way he wishes to with no pattern nor mind whatsoever. _Left, right. Left, right._

"Are you sure you're a pirate?" She grumbles at him. "You're not stealthy at all."

"Are you sure you're a lady?" He replies back, snarkily. "You're not ladylike at all."

_Ladylike._ She hates that word. "Don't you _dare_ call me that, you drunk male escort."

He opens his mouth to protest but her knife is already unsheathed, her bringing the cold metal down to his neck and tracing his throat. _"Don't."_

He swallows and watches you as you take the knife away from his throat. "So, luv," He throws that nickname at you, leisurely, "Where are you from? I suppose you're not from this island."

"I'm not." She quips. "But I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, especially when they ask my identity."

"Touche." He walks with a sort of swagger, she thinks, which is why his rhythm is so disturbing for her. Like a drunkard; swaying slightly, putting one foot barely in front of the other as if he's taken something stronger than just a bit of alcohol. "But I told you my name, ain't I? Fair to tell me yours."

"Touche." She quotes right back at him. "Fine. My name's-" She grits her teeth, remembering that argument- _I'm NOT Amanda, I'm-_ "I'm Charlie."

"Charlie for Charlotte?"

"Charlie for _Charlie,_ you fool." She snaps. "That's my birth name. Dare question it and you'll find a knife in your back."

"You have a birth name?"

She wonders if she should tell him, but something- something in his eyes, in his pose, in his gaze- just him, says she should try. Try getting closer.

_Dammit._ "My adopted parents think Charlie is the worst name possible for a girl. They _insist_ on calling me Amanda."

"You don't look like an Amanda."

"Because I'm not one!" She huffs. "Why am I even telling this to you?"

"You just love me too much, darling." He smirks. "So, Charlie, uh, um..." He trails off from his confident look- that's when she realizes that he doesn't know her last name.

"Yes, Sparrow?" She smirks.

"Charlie, um..." He trails off into thought. "Charlie Sparrow."

Her eyes widen and she staggers a little. _"What?"_

"If you don't tell me your name, love, you can expect to be called Sparrow."

"It's Charlie _Swann._ " She snaps. "Charlie Wren Swann."

"Ooh." He winces as they pass over a particularly steep bit, then tries for a grin; "Boy bird bird. You can expect to be called birdie."

"Swallow is also a bird." She gives him a look.

"But you're a _double_ bird, my dear Charlie."

"I am _not_ your 'Dear Charlie'! You are despicable!" She huffs and blows her hair out of her face. "I hate you."

"Decided that so soon, love?"

"And I am _not_ love."

He tries to hold up his hands, then winces and places his arm around you tighter, pressing his unharmed left side nearer to you. "Bloody hell." He mutters.

She knows he's just using her for support, that's why they're so near each other- but why does she _like_ it? She's half disgusted with herself, but still, sneaks a glance at him anyway; he's looking straight forwards, but his eyes are hazy with pain, probably since the bullet is still embedded inside of him and shifting around in his gut with every movement.

"Hurts." He groans, his breath close to your ear as they climb a bit further. "Ah! Son of a-"

"Keep still, then." She scolds. "We're almost there." She takes another look at him and instantly hates herself for doing so; his face is set in concentration, trying not to faint on you. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face and you can see his shirt is much more drenched than before, not only from the sweat but also the blood that's spreading over.

"Almost...where?" He sounds close to passing out.

"Camp." She declares, and as they pass the threshold he slumps in her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

He drifts in and out of consciousness for the next few moments. Days? Weeks? He's not sure how much time has passed, but he knows for sure that it has. He remembers the girl, the trees, and that stupid Barbossa, but not much else.

The first time he's slightly conscious is when she's dragging him over to a makeshift bunk. She lays him down and murmurs, "Sleep. You need it."

He wants to respond but drifts off, his body betraying him. Jack can feel his consciousness detach from his body, and then he's dreaming- of Barbossa, of gold, of the cabins in the Black Pearl. Of Tortuga.

The next time is due to pain. He can feel himself yelling, groaning, his muscles on fire. The girl is above him, her face beautiful but serene. In her hand is a bloodied knife.

"I'm sorry." She says, but he gets the feeling she's talking more to herself than him. "This is going to hurt."

He feels her hands on his chest, and his torso erupts in fire as cold metal touches his wounds. The pain makes him pass out.

And then he wakes a bit more. He does't know how much time has passed, but the sun is much higher in the sky. Does that mean he slept the whole night? He tries to speak but something is forced into his mouth, so he swallows, weakly. Is he dead? His hand falls and he feels for his wound, but he misjudges his location and they brush someone's thigh. He takes his hand away, slightly sluggish, and looks at the person.

The girl is leaning over him, her hair drawing a curtain around the two of them, and she is tipping a bowl into his mouth- soup? How can there be soup on an island? It tastes like glue in his mouth, but he accepts it anyway.

"If you're Jack Sparrow," She whispers, "I want to get off this island."

He wants to ask. Who are you? Where are you from? Why do you think I can help you?

Instead, he falls asleep.

He wakes. Again. This time it's due to fingers skimming along his stomach and his chest, and he can feel a hand supporting his back. The hands are warm, and small.

"A-" This time Jack can speak. A little. At least make a sound. "Wha- where-"

The girl shushes him, the sleeves of her men's dress shirt rolled up to her elbows as she treats him carefully. She holds up strips of cloth and he instantly gleans their purpose- bandages.

"Treatment." She whispers. He wants to ask. How did she get the cloth? How does she seem to have everything, more than him? He wants to thank her, for the first time in his life he's grateful for a person.

He reaches up and his fingers, large and rough, brush her face. Her skin is smooth.

"Thank you." He croaks. The words feel unfamiliar in his mouth.

Is it the first time he's ever said it, with such meaning?

His vision turns black.

This time he's awake fully. He's sure of it. Instead of the haze he's had so far, his eyesight is sharp and although he's slightly stiff he feels refreshed- more so than ever. He takes a deep breath, and looks up. From the clearing of trees, he can see stars. Splattered across the whole sky. That is when he remembers where he is, in an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere, with a beautiful girl named after a bird.

"Bloody hell." He croaks. His voice hasn't fully recovered then, and he's slightly hungry as well as incredibly parched.

With a little bit of struggling, he manages to stand up. He is covered by a blanket, which he inspects upon further notice. He rolls the material along his fingers and recognizes it- these are made of sails, from a ship. It's obviously cut into smaller sizes, because it's much smaller than a normal sail. The material is scratchy and rough beneath his fingers, so he pushes them off, and is exposed to the Caribbean air.

He glances down. He's undressed, undressed as in half naked. He can feel the air on his upper half of the body. His torso is wrapped in strips of what he would guess to be torn sails. He touches his side and feels only a little bit of pain, and no cold bullet inside. She must have dug it out.

Jack wonders where his shirt is. He looks up and finds it hung over a stick, it's slightly damp but he pulls it on anyway. It's clean, too; she must have washed it.

He looks back down, and is just about to stand up when he notices her.

Charlie Swann is sleeping, in a sitting position. He can guess from her poise that she's been in the same place and position for some time; watching him? Taking care of him?

He ducks down and looks up at her face. She looks peaceful like this, sleeping, like most people do. Her hair falls over her face and he tucks it behind her ear so that he can see her better. Her hair is soft.

It's the first time he's been able to see her without being hazy from pain or sleep, and she looks much more pretty than he remember her to be. Her hair is a strange colour, brown-black but streaked with highlights of blond in random places. She has light skin, like that of a British, but he can see it's getting quite tanned. She's a pirate, no doubt, with her men's clothes and weapons, except she could never be mistaken as any man (save for an eunuch)- she is short, and small, but her actions make her out to be taller than she is. In all reality, she comes up to his chin, barely.

She looks incredibly uncomfortable, sitting like that, so he's just about to move her when her eyes snap open. Immediately he finds his cheek pressed against the rocks, the rest of his body following suit, and his arms twisted behind him. There's a weight on his back, and then she says from above him, "For goodness's sake, Jack Sparrow, _wake me up_ if you need something. God, don't startle me."

"I'm awake now, love." He grunts, and she gets off him, slowly, helping him up. "I can tell you've warmed up to me a mighty lot."

"Obviously." She says, dryly. "No 'thank you for saving my life'? I'm disappointed, I'd have thought Jack Sparrow would be more of a gentleman."

_"Ever_ the gentleman, dear Charlie." He takes a bow and she rolls her eyes.

"I _told you_ not to call me that."

"Well I'm calling you that anyway, dear Charlie." He wraps an arm around her shoulder but she shrugs it off, jaw clenched.

"If we ever end up ashore, I'm having you arrested."

"And have me hanged? Will you be able to cope with that, love?"

"Better than you can imagine." She poker her finger into his chest with every word. Her eyes are narrowed. Does she really hate him?

"That's grammatically incorrect." She gives him a look and he gives her a shit-eating grin- one of his best. "It's _worse,_ not better."

"Agh! How could I forget how- how annoying you are?" She pushes him but he barely stumbles back. "Agh!"

"That's grand. Are you going to eat that?" He spots a fruit on the side, and his eyes zero in on it. Not as good as tavern food and rum, but it'll do.

"Eat-" Her voice sounds confused.

He scoops up the mango and takes a bite, humming in appreciation. "Hmm."

"-what?" Her eyes widen. "I was eating that."

"I don't care." He takes another bite. This mango is delicious. "I thought birds ate insects. What're you doing eating fruit?"

"I am _not_ a bird!" She says, looking exasperated.

"Hmm." He takes out a gun and spins it. "By the way, I'm taking over this camp. Mine now, love."

_"What?_ I- you can't do that! It's my camp!"

"Mine now." He winks flirtatiously- works every time on girls. But she just seems to get madder. Huh, peculiar.

"You're not friendly at all, are you, Jack Sparrow?" She rolls her eyes and spits out his name like it disgusts her- though, he has to say, he likes the way his name rolls around in her mouth. He knows that's not an entirely British accent, it's quite hard to place actually. "Horrible of you."

"I've taken over the camp." He plops down. "Sit down and we'll exchange tales."

"In the dark?"

"Have a better idea?"

Her eyes narrow and she clears a pot from above a fire- how had he not noticed?- and looks into it. Her brows are furrowed in concentration and she sweeps the locks away from her face uncaringly. "Dammit."

"What's that, love?" He shifts over to her and wraps an arm around her shoulder, slowly folding his fingers one by one around her arm- this time she doesn't seem to care and instead plops the pot down on the fire. He sees it's full of water. "Water?"

"Boiling it. That's the trick." He guffaws at her- there's no way something like that could be so simple.

"What?" She demands. "The salt is obviously heavier than the water, right? But it's bonded with the water. Just heat it and the heat will get rid of the water. Just catch the water." She points towards a smaller bowl. "There."

"You're smart for a pirate, Charlie Swann."

"Whoever told you I was a _pirate?_ Blasphemous." Her eyes seem to laugh at him; he's sure that even among people in general, she's one of a kind, never mind women.

Every gesture of hers seem to laugh at him, and her whole pose seems to say, _you're exasperating,_ but for some reason he likes it. He wonders if that's what people feels around him. Sitting next to a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped on men's clothes.

"What's wrong?" She watches him. He realizes he's been staring.

"Nothing, love." He winks. "Too less rum, that's what does it."

"I swear, Jack Sparrow, you are obsessed with rum." She rolls her eyes. "Here."

She hands him a flask and he opens it, taking a swig- it's rum. Oh, he missed the taste. It tastes amazing as the burning liquor hits his throat and slides down.

He downs the whole thing.

"Jack Sparrow!" She looks horrified. "I was going to drink that!"

"Unless you have any more?"

She gives him an exasperated look. "There's a storage space where rumrunners use. They come once a month, probably, so don't get your hopes up."

He's just about to ask where it is when she crawls over to a small cave. Most likely a rabbit or something of that size had lived there, but now she brings out a bottle of rum. "I'm not telling you where the space is, you'd drink yourself to death if you found it."

He thinks. Hmm, maybe she's right. "But still-"

"No." She holds out the bottle. "Take this or take nothing, mate."

He's never been aware of how much it turns him on, a woman saying _mate._ "Say that again."

She scowls. "Say what?"

"Mate."

"Mate." Chalie repeats after him. The word is fondled by her strange accent, so to distract himself he takes the bottle from her hand and takes a swig, slowly inching his fingers down her arm.

"Hmm." He hums. "Tell me where you're from, mate."

"Ireland." She mumbles. "I'm half Irish."

"Irish, ayy?" He winks. "I love those Irish women."

She scoffs. "You love all women." She says, and rolls her eyes- he notices, for a moment, that they're grey. She steals the bottle from his hand and chugs down.

"Grey eyes and such _beautiful_ hair. For a beautiful woman."

His hand is on her forearm now. She covers her face with a hand and sighs, relaxing, leaning against his chest. He can feel her smooth curves resting against him, and resist the urge to kiss her. But hey, as a mate of his always said, old habits die hard.

Unless, of course, he could _shoot_ the old habit, then it would die much easily-

"What're you thinking about?" She whispers. She looks a little drunk- already- but she manages to pull of the drunk look very well.

"Nothing." He says.

"You know before you came ashore, I was here for two weeks?" She huffs. "It's been nearly three weeks and no-one's come to find me."

"According to that attitude, I wouldn't be surprised." He raises an eyebrow and she smacks his arm.

"Jack!"

"Joking, birdie." He cackles. He can feel the alcohol spreading through his system, the familiar tingling in his brain, and he likes it, a lot. Finally! Some rum! He takes the bottle from her hand and drinks, not minding how she's drinking from the same place. "So, where you from?"

"The _bigger_ question is, sir," She turns around so that she's looking up at him through her lashes. "Where are _you_ from?"

"Here an' there." He waves his hand all over the place, but his left hand is right where he left it, but possibly further down- it's resting against your hip, and he's trying _so_ hard not to squeeze. "All' over the place. Captain o' the Black Pearl and all that." He looks down at her, who's brought her knees to her chest. "What about you, love?"

"I'm from a- a-" She frowns. "A _rich family._ I hate it."

"You do?" He can't say he knows what she's talking about. Most women would love to live a rich life, be married off and be pampered in a household with servants, maids and the sort.

"They're- uhm." She plucks the bottle out of his hands and takes a drink, straight from the bottle. "They're nice and all, but I don't like being at home. That's why I'm a pirate." Charlie frowns, then starts to giggle- it's very cute. "Though I never thought I'd meet you. My rich family adopted me."

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrows. _This_ he can sympathize about- no parents. "Tell me about it, luv."

"So my last name isn't really Swann?" Her proclamation sounds more like a question than anything else. "It's... uh, wait, lemme think. It's _Turner._ "

Turner?

His heart skips a beat. Not that Turner, surely?

"But then me and my brother were raised in the same household. My brother's name is Will Turner, by the way. He's obsessed with my stepsister." She giggles, as if it's a private joke. "It's funny."

This is weird. He thinks how strange it is to see her acting so... _feminine._ Usually she's so occupied with threatening to kill him that this side of her is... uncommon.

"Hey, hey." She unsheathes her knife and his eyes widen; drunk people and weapons are not good combinations. "I was thinking, I don't know how long we'll be here but if we're here for more than one month, I'd rather die than be with you." Charlie laughs. "I can kill you too, if you want. Savvy?"

"Hey," He protests, "Don't steal my lines, birdie."

"Savvy." She repeats. "Now tell me about yourself." She holds up the knife. "Unless you want to die."

"I'll pass," He says, shaking his hand. "See, I was born on a pirate ship- very cool, if I'd have to say..."

"More like homeless."

"Cool. In all of that, I was actually the son of the _Captain,_ you see..."


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie is roused by the screeching of birds, and the sensation of something beating against her ear.

It's warm. Warmer than it has been in a long time, in an island by herself, and she wonders why it's so warm, because to hell with it- she like this warmth. She likes it a lot.

A sigh being torn from her lips, she leans back further and snuggles against the warmth. God, it's good to be warm after so long.

Wait- why is it warm?

Why is she so warm?!

She scrambles away and turns around, landing on her butt as she realizes that she _fell asleep_ in the space between his parted legs. That she was leaning on his chest. And sleeping.

She freezes, and he stops, too, watching her as she draws her knife.

"Why am I leaning on a scrawny drunk male escort?" She asks, voice quivering ever so slightly.

He shrugs. "I dunno, love. It was your decision."

"We didn't-" Her mouth is dry, and she glances ever so slightly towards her bowl of purified water. "You didn't- I-"

"I didn't escort you, if that's what you're asking, luv."

She curses. "I hate you." She says, and she begins to grab a few things from the camp. Jack Sparrow is _so damn exasperating._

"Someday, love," He waves his hand in a drunkenly manner, "That _hate_ will turn into _love._ "

She crosses her arms and marches straight up to him.

"Never as long as I'm alive, _Captain._ " She pokes his chest. "You can bet my word on that."

"How about you bet me a kiss?"

She rolls her eyes. "If you _ever_ get that horrible confession out of me, yes, I will kiss you. Not like it's going to _ever_ happen."

She scoffs internally, wondering why she's even playing along. Charlie Swann falls in love with no one, much less Jack Sparrow himself- who, by the way, disappoints her. By the tales, one would think he was about as dangerous as a kraken. But this disappointing idiot is far from one.

She paces the camp, cleaning up everything from yesterday (which she didn't get a chance to do) and tries to ignore the way Jack keeps following her. She's just about to head out when she spins around and bumps into him- he grabs her arms, preventing her from falling on her arse.

"Move." She hisses, and because she's left awkward instead decides to save the water in her flask, just in case. He follows her, peering over her shoulder, interested at what she's doing.

She loads everything in and grabs a long piece of sail that she uses as a towel. She turns back and bumps into him again.

"All right." She spins around. "Stop following me like a lost puppy. _What_ do you want?"

"You." Cue the shit-eating grin. "Apart from that? Food. And rum."

"What is _it_ with you and rum?" She scoffs. "Will it keep you in a better mood?"

"Y-es."

She throws him a bottle. "That's the only bottle you're getting for today."

"Two, savvy?"

"One."

"Two."

_"One,_ Jack Sparrow, or you're starving."

He spins around, and gives her a pout. It is, rather, a manly pout.

"Fine. What about food?"

"You'll have to earn that, Jack, not expect me to put it on a gold platter for you." She scowls. "Are you _trying_ to aggravate me?"

"Nope." He flashes her his golden teeth. "You did that on your own, luv."

"You're a despicable playboy." She crosses her arms.

He grins and trots after her. "That I am. An' proud of it."

She hisses, slowly, releasing air through clenched teeth. _Calm down, you'll be fine._ "Well I'm going hunting, so you better come with me."

Without another glance, she turns on her heel and marches away; he just about trips over his feet following her. Until he really trips.

He falls to the floor with a crash, and looks up at her with a nervous smile.

"You're chasing away all the birds." She grumbles.

"And obviously the birds are much more important than me, love?"

She mumbles "Bloody jerk." Which, of course, she hopes he can't hear.

They trek along further. Jack is loud, as ever, and she can tell that he's scaring away half the prey you meet. It's annoying, so she turns back to him. "Can you _be quiet?"_ She hisses.

"Just because _you're_ not wearing shoes doesn't mean I'm not!"

"Well, if it'll make you more quiet, take off your shoes for god's sake!" She hisses.

He scowls. "No."

"Then go shoot fish."

"I only have-"

"One round, I know." She snaps. "But you at least have one round."

He hisses. "That bullet ain't for fish."

"What's it for then?" She asks, disinterested. He draws the gun and looks at it.

"I'm going to shoot the man who stole me ship." He spits. "Barbossa."

She doesn't think she's ever seen him so serious before. She gives him a nod, solemn, and treks the path, much quieter than before.

"What about you?" A voice comes from behind you. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing." She snaps, her voice hard. "Banana?"

"Nothing banana?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose, then hesitating, throws him a banana. He catches it. _"Nothing_ happened, you bastard. Now shut up."

"Not until you tell me, luv."

She stiffens. She's not one to talk about her past- in fact, she's more of someone who spends her days _escaping_ it. She hates the way she just wants to succumb to Jack's plead. For some reason he's breaking down her walls faster than she built them up.

"No." Her voice is softer, but still considerably hard; she tries to imagine what would happen if she went around blabbering her past to everybody. She'd probably willingly plummet to Davy Jones' locker.

"Listen," He trips over his own feet trying to get nearer to her, "I don't know what happened to you, Charlie Wren Swann, but keeping all that bottled up in there-" He points to her heart- "Won't help nothing. Now tell me."

She sighs, taking another step down the hill, then stops.

"Simply putting it," She says, and although she has no idea why she's telling this to him she can't help but do so; "You don't know what a kraken attack is like when you're half drowning."

"A kraken." He shivers- she notices that, with wide eyes. Jack Sparrow? Scared?

"Scared?" A smile prods at her; giving up to the temptation, she lets her lips curve up into an amused smile. "Jack Sparrow, scared?"

"I dunno what you're talking about." He refuses. "It's cold an' that's all, luv."

"Mmhmm. Obviously, Captain." He chuckles, his hand darting forwards, and before you know it you're crushed against him, his arm wrapped around your hip as the two of you walk.

"Wha' makes you think that, luv?" He's smirking, too, and he knows it.

"Your shivering gives it all away, Captain."

"And your _blushin'_ gives away everything I need to know about your feelings for me."

"Shut up and eat your banana."


	5. Chapter 5

The morning is cool and fresh, the salty wind carrying all the way up to the cliff and teasing his hair. Jack Sparrow groans, stretching his body, and turns over. His arm is around a body and he wonders, for a horrified moment, if that body is dead. But he can still feel the warmth, and oh, what a fine body. A woman's body, then.

He opens one eye with a moment of hesitation, then, upon further inspection, opens his other eye. His arm is draped over the dip of a woman's waist, who is facing towards him, snugged into his chest. Her eyes are closed, showing that she is still asleep, and her beautiful face is peaceful, unlike most times when she is awake. Her hair makes a black-and-brown halo around her head, the coffee brown contrasting like a canvas against the honey gold.

He cocks his head, but doesn't question it neither does he make any sort of other movement. Because, after all, this is Charlie Swann and for all anyone knows, she could shoot him in the head. He has come to respect her and her deadly temper.

She wraps her arms around his midsection (healed of all bullet wounds, thanks to a certain Charlie Swann) tighter and he can feel her breath against the exposed collar of his shirt. She sighs a little, contentedly.

It's strange to see her peaceful, as always. Every time she's asleep catches him off-guard- he half expects her to be holding a sword and cussing at him like a sailor. But he's even grown used to this queer change in demeanor.

As he watches her, though, she shifts ever so slightly and murmurs something unrecognizable; he spots a dark patch on her hip as she shifts and the shirt rides up on her hips. Curious, he inches one hand towards it and is just about to pull it over to see what it is.

Her eyes flutter open and she frowns, trying to look at him, only to realize the sunlight is in her eyes.

She's awake.

"You're awake." He states, quite obviously.

Her lips form a moue as she raises a hand to cover her eyes, blocking the sunlight from them. "Jack?"

"Aye."

"What were you doing?" She pulls herself closer to him, and when he gives her a look rolls her eyes. "Oh, shut up. You're warm. What were you doing?"

"Nuthin', luv." He gives her a smirk and looks up at the sky, trying not to look at her hip again. But he can't help it, as there's a rustling in his side; he stares at her hip, almost willing the spot to come out, as she tucks her shirt in.

She catches his gaze. "What're you looking at?"

She is friendly with him, aye?

"Nuthin'." He repeats.

"Is this the first time you've see someone tuck in their shirt?" Charlie asks, sarcastically. "Turn away, Captain."

"Just thought I saw somethin' I shouldn't have, luv." He takes his best guess. "A... brand?"

She raises her eyebrow and then, unexpectedly, bursts into laughter. "Oh, this old thing?" She laughs. "It's a tattoo. Compass. Beautiful thing, really."

A woman? With a tattoo? She never fails to surprise him.

"What?" She snaps at him. "Stop gawking." She untucks her shirt again, and draws her shirt up on the left side. He can see the dark ink blooming across her delicate skin that he had caught sight of so briefly- a tattoo of a standard black-and-blank compass rose, simple and without any elaborate designs. "I have two."

"Two compasses?"

"Two tattoos, you bloody idiot." She punches his chest. "You are stupid for a Captain."

"But smart for a drunk male escort, eh? Where's the other?" He smirks. She shakes her head at him, exasperatedly, and then tucking her shirt back in, instead takes her collar and unbuttons the buttons so that the shirt dips, exposing her collarbones. On her right collar is a CT.

CT. Two letters. Charlie...?

"It's a reminder." She taps her finger on the two letters.

"A reminder?"

_"Just in case_ they forget my name." She smirks. "I'm Charlie Turner, not Amanda Swann."

"Very nice tale." He muses. "Did you get it off a scholar, love?"

She, of course, ignores him, like she does half the time. "Can I see yours?" She holds up her hand, as a _come-here_ gesture. He holds out his hand and she gives him a confused look. "Where-"

"I suppose you'll have to find it yourself, love." He almost purrs, and she scoffs, turning back over on her side, her fingers scanning every inch of his skin for a mark. Her fingers brush his sleeve and he stiffens, instinctively.

"Bingo." She laughs, and turns around to look at his surprised face. "Don't look so surprised, Captain. Human reflexes are _very_ tell-tale." She wrenches up the sleeve and there it is- the burn mark of a P, and the tattoo.

Her fingers freeze in midair, then- "May I?" She says, gesturing to the scar. She's awfully calm, too quiet for Charlie Swann.

He dips his head. "Feel free to touch me whenever you want, darling." He says, smirking, and because she is a decent woman, she ignores him.

"P for pirate." Her finger traces the scar. "Did it hurt when you got this?"

"For a bit." He finds himself saying. "Then? Not so much."

Her voice holds sympathy. Sympathy for him. "It must have hurt a lot." She slips her fingers between his and then he can feel her lips on the scar, kissing the puckered, ruined skin. He draws in a breath.

She is the most peculiar woman he has ever met- and he means that in a good way.

"What about this?" She runs her finger over the tattoo just on top of the P, the sun with a bird flying over it and the sea. "I suppose this is your idea of a practical joke, Sparrow."

They laugh. It seems like this is the first time they've laughed, together. He is all in all slightly astonished that this is logically possible.

"You should get one of a swan. Or a wren." He suggests.

"Are you crazy?" She laughs, and punches his arm. "I hate swans- no way I'm getting the tattoo of one."

"Everyone likes swans, birdie."

"Hey! Don't decide what I like and don't like in front of-"

"How 'bout this." He squeezes her hand in his. "If and when we get to mainland, I'll get one of a swan. You, love, get a swallow. Savvy?"

"Fine." She huffs. "You make me do stupid things, Sparrow. You're a bad influence."

"You only agree because you love me, aye?" He winks.

For a moment he thinks she is blushing- actually _blushing,_ her face dusted pink as she tries not to stare- but then it is gone just as quickly, and she scowls at him, letting go of his hand.

"Get up, Jack Sparrow." She crosses her arms. "We have work to do."

* * *

She is crazy.

Charlie Swann is absolutely, incredibly, stupid, crazy, loony, and just plain _irrational._

It isn't like her life is weird enough. Visiting deserted islands, pirating, sword fighting, learning as many swear words as she can. Leaving a rich family to learn how to fight like a pirate. Not only that, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow himself has been stranded in the same island as you, 

"If you hav' so much of a rich family," The said captain grumbles, inspecting a random piece of rock in order to make it look like he's working, "Why aren't they out looking for a violent lass like you?"

"I am _adopted,_ Jack Sparrow. They don't care about me as much as they care about their _real_ one. Not to mention my..." She sniffs, rather disdainfully. _"Frequent trips_ outside. They probably think I'm off on another trip."

"They dunno about your piracy, eh?"

"They think I'm traveling with the _East-Indian Trading Company_." She mimics a plush British accent, one she is sure her dear father would speak with if he saw her.

He stiffens. "The East-Indian Trading Company?"

"Yes, yes." She rolls her eyes exasperatedly, not noticing the horrified look on her Captain. "I hate the load of them- stuck up, think they're the best, jerks. Ring a bell?"

She turns to fact the Captain, who is straightening his vest out and attempting not to look suspicious. "Aye, I know them."

Charlie turns, drawing her sword to hack away some vines, when a sword crosses with hers. Instinctively, she ducks, and the sword sails where her head would have been a second ago. She slashes and the slash is caught by a sword- _Jack's_ sword. She turns to face him, wondering if he is betraying her or anything of that sort, when he begins to go a very familiar pattern.

_Foot left, right, forwards, backwards, dodge, slash, parry-_

"C'mon, dear Charlie! I'm going easy on you!"

_"What_ are you trying to make me do?" She can't help it- a laugh is torn from her lips and she can't stop, she keeps laughing as he parries her strike.

"Sword-fighting, lad! Can't get rusty now, can we?"

"Excuse me, I am _not_ rusty! The only reason you have-" She blocks, then parries, jab at his side- "-me like this is because I am going easy on _you,_ Captain."

They exchange a few jabs, which they both block. "You're going easy on me, eh? Try saying that when I beat you!" His boot dips, but she's fought with pirates, she has it coming- she turns away from the spray of sand that comes her way, and blindly stabs at him.

He takes a sharp intake of breath, and when she draws her sword away there's a speck of blood.

"You are _impossible._ " She hisses. "I hate you. You shall see that, when I beat-" Kick- "your-" Jab at the ankle- "ass!" She feints, then instead of going for his unprotected left side, she flips her sword and bangs her hilt onto his wrist with force. He lets out a unmanly yelp and she sweeps his feet out from under him, locking her legs around him and slamming him down so that he lands on his back, her sitting on top of him.

"Got you." She breathes, grinning, the tip of her sword grazing his chin ever so slightly. "Admit your defeat, Captain."

"You know," He says, with a smirk, "I think you're starting to like this position, eh?"

She frowns. "What're you talking about? Shut your-" Her eyes widen as she realizes exactly what he's talking about. She had thought of this, originally, as a fighting stance, but this is more like a _straddle._

She is straddling Captain Jack Sparrow.

"I still won." She says, looking away to hide that blush on her cheeks, and gets off him, holding out her hand. "Admit it."

"Defeat admitted." He smirks, and grabs her hand, pulling himself up. "Though, I don't mind. If only you could get into that position-"

"Watch your mouth or sacrifice your dinner." She tells him, sharply, and struts away with a satisfied look upon her face.

He watches her as she walks away, graceful as ever.

"Bloody hell," He mutters.


	6. Chapter 6

A week.

It's been a week.

Charlie scrapes another slash on the marking stone as she lies in bed, or rather, the piles of sails. Her hair is braided and swinging down her back, the streaks prominent on the patterns of a fish-braid, and perched on her head is Jack's hat. She is on her stomach, trying not to be bored out of her mind as she takes another bite of what she tries not to think as parrot meat.

"You know what I'm going to do when I go back?" She scoffs. "Cut my hair. This is the most annoying thing I have _ever_ gone through! I'd like to see the kraken win me in a fight with long hair. No _wonder_ he lost to me. Do you think I am one to lose a fight with a kraken?"

"I'm sure he would lose, luv." The man next to her drones. He is on his back, taking swings of rum from a large glass bottle as he idly sits, one arm behind his head. He looks up at the sky.

"Can you be a little more supportive?" She huffs.

"Can't help it, birdie." He glances at her, and smirks. "I like that hair of yers—It would be a shame to see it cut off."

"For the last time," She pouts. "I am _not_ a bird. Just because my name is Charlie Wren Swann, and that's with _two_ n's, mind you-"

"Still pronounced the same." He sips his alcohol contentedly. "This is better treasure than gold. Rum, a beach, pretty girl..."

She flushes furiously. This has been going on for god knows how long now. Him flirting at her, her trying to conceal her blush as far as she can while yelling at him...

Aye, all in all it has been a very routinely few weeks.

Since they are the only two people on this island, they have ended up getting to know each other pretty quickly. Not like she wants to. Not to mention the fact that due to lack of heat, most nights she ends up reluctantly wrapped up in his arms, trying to refuse the fact that he is a _very_ good source of heat.

And not only that, he is infuriatingly flirting with her. She still finds that exasperating, even though she has both grown used to it and warmed up to it. It is a little irritating, of course, but she tells herself it's only because of that bet the two of you had made, about the kiss and you saying the three words...

"I hate you." She says, which is what she says ninety-nine point nine percent of the time to Jack.

That's probably why he doesn't even blink an eye; instead he just chuckles merrily. "Love ya too, darling."

She takes another bite. It tastes infuriatingly good. Everything is infuriating, nowadays- especially since this big idiot is next to her; and since neither of them can get off the island, they're both stuck here.

"A ship." He mumbles. She looks at him, weirdly; he's in a drunken fit again. Great.

"What?"

"Shiiiip." He says, drawing out the syllables, and his teeth glint in the sun. "Ship. Me ship. Yer ship. Their ship."

"You're nuts."

"Behold!" He springs up. "A ship!"

Charlie stares at him. Is he _finally_ starting to have hallucinations from the rum? She doesn't really think he's okay, after all, as he keeps talking about-

Wait- a ship?

Springing up, she grabs the telescope from her belt and look towards there; sure enough, there is a white-sailed ship on the horizon, getting bigger and bigger as it makes a beeline straight towards the island.

"Jack!" She protests. "Can you have a more legitimate reaction, please?!"

"Ship ho!"

"I hate you." She grumbles under her breath. Quickly Charlie straps everything that she needs to herself- knife, sword, telescope- while Jack staggers around, drunk. "Captain, we've got to get to shore as quickly as possible!"

"I'm sure it'll be fine, love."

"JACK SPARROW!"

He winces. "Alright, alright, don't get your undershorts in a twist-"

"You know very well I don't _own_ undershorts, because I don't _wear_ dresses!"

"Aye, I got it! There's a shorter path down there, I was jus' looking at it the other day-"

Her heart skips a beat. "A shorter path?" A shorter path would be great.

"But it's-"

"Take us down. Now! Hurry!"

“Are you sure? Because-”

“JACK SPARROW!”

“Aye, I got it! This way,” He adds, and runs towards it as quickly as possible in his drunken stagger. "There! Run, uh," He frowns for a moment, then points his finger in just about any direction before taking out his compass and looking at it. He snaps it shut. "That way!" He says, pointing left.

She goes left. Jack follows, and the two of them are running down a steep side of the hill, you trying desperately not to cry out as the rocks sting your feet, and him trying not to lose his balance.

She runs over a particularly sharp branch and cries out; the splinters hurt her feet, but getting off the island is much more important. Jack reaches towards her, but she shakes her head. "GO!" She yells. "To the ship!"

"Ow." She hisses. But she ignores the pain and runs anyway; she can feel the slick blood coating her feet, but that does't matter because she's _so close to freedom._

They skid down the final few feet and then they're on shore, _so close_ to being saved.

"They're not close enough." Jack Sparrow says. Startled, she turns.

"What?"

"We need something. A fire, a signal, something. They can't see-"

She draws out her pistol, and fires at the sky. She didn't want to waste that one shot, but she was so frantic to be saved-

_BANG!_

"That was one shot I wasted to get on shore, Jack Sparrow." She murmurs. "I hope this works."

Then she promptly collapses against the sand. The rough grittiness is hurting her feet more than she'd like it to, and it feels like the time she got stung by a jellyfish. Damn, this hurts. "I don't suppose they would have boots?"

He crouches down next to her, frowning. "Yer feet look painful, love."

"Because they, oh, I dunno, _are?_ " She snaps. "Ow!" Her arm reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly as she picks out one of the bigger splinters. She lets loose a few more cuss words and Jack just chuckles, looking at her.

"Cheer up, lass. The ship's getting closer."

She looks up to find the ship sailing towards the island- even though her feet hurt, she feels like her legs are amputated, and she's out of ammo, she can't help but smile.

"Thank you." Charlie whispers, and brush her lips against his cheek.

"Knew you would come around."

"Don't you have any bandages, you bloody moron?"

* * *

"O-ow." Charlie hisses, a pair of boots in front of her. Her feet are wrapped in bandages and a pair of thick socks (to prevent it from hurting)- they have been cleaned and the splinters plucked out. Her shivering body is wrapped in a cloak and she is sitting on a closed box of... apples?

"Careful, love." A certain Captain is sitting next to her. The boat is in full sail, and they are rocking slightly due to the movement of the waves, but they are more than happy to get off the island. "Don't overdo yourself."

"Don't tell me what to do with my own body, Jack Sparrow." She punches his arm, rather insistently, and slips her feet into the boots. They fit rather well.

He wordlessly wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer, so that her smaller form is shivering under his. She hesitates, for a brief moment, surprised by his actions.

He seems to... _care._ She's pushed him away, starting from the day they met, with all her strength, and every time he just seems to care _more._

Why is this happening? Someone once told her that human interactions were hard to make but easy to break- but this- this isn't _easy to break._ He's getting closer, and he's breaking down her walls.

Jack Sparrow is... _charming._

Why Jack Sparrow? Why him, of all people? The player, the one who sleeps around, the thoughtless yet absolutely charming idiot? Why did he have to be the first and only man she ever opened up to?

She knows she should push him away, yell at him for laying a hand on her. That's what she's been taught to do. That's the best way to survive. That's how she doesn't get hurt. She should be cold to him, keep distance from him until she can reconstruct the walls inside her mind. Don't let him in.

But still, she can spare one moment... right?

"Here, love." His comforting voice murmurs in her ear.

She presses herself against him and breathes, deeply, in his scent.

_I can spare one moment,_ she thinks.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack Sparrow bows down to the dead pirates, taking off his beloved hat solemnly to pay tribute to the dead and battered hanged pirates. He wipes a fake tear from his eye and sighs.

"We have better problems to worry about than dead men." Charlie rants. She is huffing, her hands on her petite waist as she tries to inform him of the real problem; and of course, he doesn't listen. "Jack! Are you listening to me? _Jack!_ "

He looks away from the pirates. "I pay yer tributes." He mumbles, and even though he _looks_ sincere she knows he's actually ignoring her on purpose because face it, it's funny to ignore Charlie Swann.

"Jack Sparrow!" Comes the ever so familiar shriek, and laughing, she swats him on the head and steals his hat, placing it upon her head. He looks towards her, feigning surprise.

"Yes?"

"I feel like this ship is sinking." She scoffs. Her head is held high, her pride likewise; and, of course, trying not to notice the gaping hole thrust into the side of the ship that pours out water.

"It's because it is, love." Jack sits atop a soaked bench that is half underwater as he attempts to throw the water out with a bucket, that is leaking itself, but the water is pouring faster than he can throw out. "Hang on. We're almost there."

"I hate you." Charlie scoffs. "This is your fault. If you hadn't upset those traders-"

"I only stated the truth!"

"-or aggravated those sailors-"

"Well, how was I supposed to know it was a shark, not a shrimp?"

"-or opened your mouth, for that matter-"

"How can I help opening my mouth?"

"-we wouldn't be on a _sinking ship._ I could have handled it."

He huffs in defeat. "Fine. But still-"

"No." She waggles a finger at him, her petite figure radiating hostility and also a lot of annoyance. _"No."_

Jack grows silent. Charlie wonders if she is the first person to ever shut Jack up effectively.

"Why are we even here?" He huffs. "We could have gone to Tortuga. A lot o' me old friends are there-"

"And by friends, you mean people who want to kill you." She leans closer to the Captain, so close she can count the and taps his nose. _"No."_

"Yes, ma'am." He mumbles.

She combs a hand through her hair, nervously. "Though I really hope father isn't mad. Or Lizzie. Will is never mad at me. Father will probably blanch at these clothes I'm wearing, so I should probably snag a dress somewhere before going to visit him. And take care of that dagger in my boot."

"I think you look pretty fine, love." Jack says. He is smirking, leaning on one chin and watching her with a satisfied look in his eyes. She blushes, and to disguise it, punches him in the arm.

"Jack Sparrow!"

_"Captain."_

Charlie covers her face with her hands. "Stop it."

"Stop what, birdie?"

She wants to say, _stop making me blush._ Instead, she says, "Stop being infuriating," Which, in her dictionary, are two coinciding things.

"Can't." He stands up smoothly, ignoring the water beginning to overflow. "Yer too beautiful."

Like a sensible woman, she ignores him, and focuses on the real problem at hand. "Is it just me or is the ship startin' to sink even more?"

He looks down, where she is submerged up to her thighs. "We better climb, love."

"We better." She agrees, and the two of them begin to climb the mast. It's a smooth job, since both of them are sea-faring pirates and have climbed a mast with experience; soon the two of them are on the top, Charlie being left with no choice but to grab Jack's midsection and hang onto him with all her might. The mast on this particular ship, after all, is a bit too small for two people.

And whose fault is that? Jack Sparrow's, of course.

Damn you, Jack Sparrow.

Her mouth is in a thin line as she surveys the port from the mast, which is sinking steadily- "Do you think we can get to port without sinking completely?"

"Do you not trust me, birdie?"

"No."

"Smart move. Well, I suppose it'll be all right. It's just a bit difficult." He winks at her. "Hold on a tad bit."

She curses heavily, resting her glare on the man next to her- he is _so infuriating._ "Fine." She huffs. She shifts her arm around the male so that it's a bit more comfortable- at his look, she shoots him a glare. "You're using my helplessness to your advantage, aren't you, Captain?"

"Of course." He grins. She shrieks and tightens her hold around his waist as the ship sinks lower, scraping bottom; it's only until she's realized all movements have stopped when she opens her eyes; Jack is above her, laughing.

"Scared, luv?"

"Oh, shut up." She gives him a shove and he leaps from the sunken ship, deftly to the dock- and holds out his hand.

She looks at it. A hand. To her. That might lead to something she doesn't want.

But she's a pirate, she takes risks, and hell, it might lead to something she _does_ want.

Taking it, Charlie steps off shore and is caught neatly into the arms of Jack Sparrow. He flashes her a grin before turning to a man (the harbormaster! Oh,she hasn't seen him in a long time), presumably to talk.

Meanwhile she lingers behind. Her feelings have been jumbled up from the brief contact- that gesture, the hand, the arms that caught her- it is leaving her breathless. She has no idea why to her increased breath, the increased heartbeat, the blood flushing to her face, the blush. She's _never_ acted like this before. Never, in her life. Why is she acting like this now?

The cause surely can't be Jack Sparrow. She has probably just entered a stage in life that is still developing. She places a hand over her heart and takes a few deep breaths, unaware of the man watching her.

"Finished, dear bird?"

She jolts and her head snaps towards the cause of the voice; Jack.

"Of course," She says, breathlessly, and takes the hand he offers.

_Any cause but Jack._


	8. Chapter 8

A frown is upon her delicate brow as the petite figure stumbles around, trying not to fall down. Her lip bitten in concentration, she attempts to walk- but fails completely, instead stumbling over her own feet as she tries carefully to not fall into the water.

"I can't see." Charlie complains.

Of course, no one is there to listen to her complaints. Not even Jack Sparrow, whom she has stuck with ever since the island, because he has left her with a cheeky smirk and the words, "Watch my hat."

The thing that is preventing her from seeing anything, really, is the same tricorn hat of his.

"Jack Sparrow. You _rascal._ " She seethes, seeing nothing else to do with the hat except put it upon her head; "You are _dead._ Or as good as it, anyway," She adds, in case he is listening. But she knows he isn't- for she had seen (or rather, heard) him walk towards the docks a while ago. She can hear music, sort of far away but sort of not, and people talking. She cocks her head.

Music... people? Why is there music? Why did he leave her behind?

Why did they come to Port Royale, even?

She wrenches the hat off. And what she sees terrifies her- Jack is aboard the H.M.S Interceptor, pride and beauty of the navy, a ship that none can match to speed, blah blah blah-

And he is casually examining the mechanism.

_What?_ How did he get past the guards? Why is he doing that? What does he want? Why is he on the _Interceptor,_ a ship she, the daughter of a _Governor,_ have traveled in only twice in your lifetime?

"Jack!" Her eyes are wide and horrified, and begins to jog towards the _Interceptor_. He looks up from the mechanism, a look of exaggerated innocence on his face, but when he sees you, it morphs into horror. Were you not supposed to find out, now? "What in the name of god are you _doing?_ " Her eyes narrowed, she places her hands on her hips and stands on her tiptoes to get as close to his face as possible. "Jack Sparrow, answer me."

"Nothing." He says, and remasks himself with the exaggerated innocence. "Absolutely nothing."

She knows he's lying. She knows it. She's just about to ask him, opening her mouth to do so, when someone interrupts.

"Oi! You two!"

A pair of rather daft-looking soldiers jog towards them across the gangplank, their faces horrified. More so than hers.

Jack gives the two of them a look of mock innocence that sends her into a fit of laughter, and promptly hides behind her, which, of course, is ridiculous since she is small, even for a woman.

"Get away from there! The two of you don't have permission to be aboard there!"

She glowers at him. "You've gotten me in trouble now."

He places a hand on her shoulder and when she gives him a slightly annoyed yet questioning look, gives her a look back that seems to say, _let me handle this._

"I'm sorry," Jack steps forwards, spreading his hands in apology, and in the while sweeping her behind him to hide her from view, "It's just such a pretty boat. Ship," He corrects himself, as the two guards open their mouths again.

She narrows her eyes. Jack Sparrow is one to _correct_ her when she calls a ship a boat, not make the same mistake. What is he doing?

"You. What's your-?" One of the sailors say, eyes narrowed as he looks at her. She steps forwards and they are cut off. "What are you _wearing?_ "

"Clothes." She snaps. "Now finish your sentence."

"What's, uh, your... your name?"

She opens her mouth to answer, _The feckin' daughter of the governor, you lowlife,_ when her own Captain steps forwards and gives her a surreptitious look. "Smith." He says. "And so's mine."

The two soldiers glance at each other. "What's your business in Port Royale, 'Mr. Smith'?"

"And no lies!" The other adds.

By the tone of their voice, she can tell they're not convinced. Charlie shoots her acquaintance a look- _Smith, really?-_ but he gives her a look, and it's these times when she knows his mind is actually working harder than ever, sharper than her brother's swords. He may seem to be daft, but he's actually rather smart, if she'd say so.

"None? Very well. You've rumbled us. We confess: we intend to commandeer one of those ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, and go out on the account, do a little honest pirating."

She gapes. He'd give them away. Just like that.

"I _said,_ no lies."

Oh.

_Oh._

She gets what he's getting at. That wonderful fool.

"It's not a lie." She steps in, adding smoothly. "He's telling the truth. Aren't I right, J- Smith?"

The other soldier cuts in. "I think he's telling the truth."

"He's not telling the truth."

"He may be."

"If he were telling the truth he wouldn't have told us." The other argues, exasperatedly. "You idiot."

_Both of you are idiots._ She stifles a laugh behind her hand. Jack squeezes her shoulder- _be quiet-_ and says, "Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth if he told it to you."

She squeezes her own hand behind her back, trying desperately not to laugh. This is a fool's errand.

"But-"

Behind her companion's back, she sees something plummet. From the cliff.

And hit the waves.

_What the-_

"Jack." She shakes his arm. "Jack, I think someone's fallen off the cliff."

"I know, I saw, love." He looks at the two guards. "Aren't you going to-"

"ELIZABETH!"

The anguished cry that cut Jack off can be heard from this far, even- she is certain that is Norrington's voice, for she has heard it many times.

But- if that's Norrington, then the Elizabeth that fell-

"Jack!" Her eyes are wide and the grip on his arm tightens. "That's my _sister_ that fell."

_"Your_ sister." He confirms, and when she nods, he grows silent. When she turns to him she sees that he is stripping off his coat, his belt, and anything that weighs him down, and she realizes- he's going to save her.

Charlie's eyes widen. No matter how much she pretends to be annoyed with him, it does't mean she is not concerned for his health- and right now, she is remembering one particular wound he has. "Jack, your wound." She turns towards the others, hoping desperately that they will go in his place. "Aren't any of you going to save her?"

"We- we can't swim."

The other shakes his head- he can't, either. Sparrow, meanwhile, thrusts his possessions into one of the sailor's arms.

"They're sailors, luv, what do you expect?" He scowls, but pats his hat, which is hanging limply from her hand. "Take care of that, and the two of you- don't lose these."

He turns away and as quickly as possible, dives into the water- but not before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She stumbles back, holds her breath. The wound in his torso is still unhealed- it takes a full month for a gunshot to heal that quickly- not to mention that she is nervous. She has no idea as to why she _cares_ so much- she just does.

_Dammit, Jack Sparrow, come back breathing-_

"We better get to the dock." One of the soldiers say. "Uh, miss, are you coming?"

She turns towards them and a fire ignites within her eyes, she needs someone to blame for this; she wants to sock them in the face. How can they _not know how to swim?_ They're sailors! Their job is to save people! Why did they make Sparrow go in their place?!

"So, uh, miss..." One of the guards say. "Are you... how long have the two of you been together?"

"We haven't!" She snaps. This is what they care about? Why can't they swim? She snarls- this annoys her to no end. "And the two of you-"

They shrink back, even though she's slightly shorter than them. She jabs a finger on the shorter one's chest, the other hand clenched tightly.

"If you don't know how to swim," She says, her face furious, _"Learn."_

They nod frantically and she turns away from them, worried out of her mind- for some reason it just _does,_ which is _so_ frustrating!

And what was he implying, _your_ sister? Instead of your _sister?_ Or _your sister?_ Why the emphasis on _your?_ Is that so important?

Why, dammit, is she doubting this in the first place?

But her thoughts are all over the place- her eyes wide, and paranoid; she wonders if this is what Norrington would have felt with Elizabeth falling from a cliff. Yes, she feels _exactly_ like that.

And speaking of Elizabeth, why is she falling from cliffs? What is she doing? Charlie realizes she is mad at everything rationally possible and also everything that may not, but she supposes she is not in her right mind. This confusing. Frustrating. Horrible.

The seconds seem to last minutes, and minutes seem to last hours. She stares at the edge of the dock, her clock ticking-

And Jack Sparrow bursts from the water, a woman on his back. Charlie's eyes are wide and she forgets that she is supposed to be mad at the world, she pulls him up onto the dock with all her strength.

The two idiots decide _this_ is when they want to act. They check her sister's breath, try to get her heart started- which is ridiculous, since her heart never stopped in the first place- and finally, looks up at Jack.

"Not breathing." They declare.

"Move." She hears him snap at one of the soldiers, and she sees him raise his hands, in his hands a certain glinting item. A knife.

_What?_

Before she can react, he slashes downwards, and Elizabeth gasps; she sees that in his hand is a wide, stringed... thing. It looks like a torture device.

A corset. Charlie has worn one before, back when she had been twenty-two; she had never worn one since. It is a pain, and every opportunity of her father offering it up, she either doesn't wear it at all, or shoots the item of clothing. No wonder Elizabeth had fallen off the cliff; in fact, she wouldn't be surprised if her sister had _thrown_ herself off.

"I never would have thought of that." One of the soldiers say, looking at Jack in awe as he takes the corset and throws it aside.

"Clearly, you've never been to Singapore." Jack scoffs distractedly. Off the topic, her mind strays and wonders if he is experienced in this; women's clothing, corsets, underskirts. How else would he knows about one? Jack Sparrow sleeps around, she knows that.

She turns away, looks at Elizabeth's beautiful face. She's never cared much about looks. She has no care in the world that she lacks height and curves, that she cannot be categorized as feminine or delicate or pretty as women are expected to be.

But Charlie looks at Elizabeth, lying on the ground even _coughing_ so damn beautifully, and for the first time, wishes she was like her sister; prettier, graceful, womanly. Someone worth saving.

Someone worth diving towards the cliffs for.

She means- Jack's trying so _hard._

Jack glances up at Charlie; she wonders why he's doing that until he asks, "You okay, love?"

"Why wouldn't I be-" She turns away and realizes that she's been staring rather wistfully; tucking her hair behind her ears, she nods. "Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

What is _wrong_ with her? Why is she unable to pull herself together? In her opinion, it's Jack Sparrow's fault that her walls are now blasted to smithereens- reduced to rubble. She feels completely vulnerable. Worrying about her appearance, getting jealous of a high-class girl- this is not _her._ But it is, around Jack Sparrow. It confuses her to no end, and slightly horrifies her, too.

He stands up, sensing her distress, and one arm reaches out for her, but to have a blade drawn under his throat. Her eyes widen and her gaze flickers to the side, wondering what kind of idiot is drawing a blade in the wrong place.

"On your feet." A cold voice says, and Norrington is above him, his face cold as he surveys the scene. She looks down- it looks worse than it is, with Elizabeth's clothes gone, and Jack standing over her. Rather easy to misunderstand.

Charlie's eyes widen. "Captain Norrington!"

"Commodore-" Norrington's snarl stops halfway and he looks disbelievingly at her, his eyebrows quirked up in surprise. "I can't believe- _Amanda?_ "

"It's _Charlie_ to you, Commodore." She smirks at him and takes a mocking bow. Besides her, she can almost hear Sparrow's surprised expression- she wasn't lying, after all- and crosses her arms. Oh, she has to save him, doesn't she? "As for the man you're holding at swordpoint, he just-"

"Elizabeth! Are you all right?" A familiar voice cuts her off, and she rolls her eyes as she is interrupted for the third time in two days. "Elizabeth!"

A plump man breaks the crowd and hurries over to Elizabeth, draping a jacket over her. Charlie drops the hat as quietly as possible and head towards Elizabeth- Elizabeth notices her, and her eyes widen. Charlie shoots her a look. _Quiet._

"Yes, father, I'm fine-" Elizabeth gives her a questioning look, perhaps wondering what she's doing here-"Commodore Norrington, do you intend to kill my rescuer?"

"That's exactly what I was trying to say." Charlie grumbles under her breath, rolling her eyes. Of _course_ everyone would ignore her. They always do.

"I believe thanks are in order." Norrington says, voice cold. Charlie turns towards them, and to her surprise Norrington's sword is sheathed, his hand instead darting out to take its place. Oh. Perhaps Norrington does care more about Elizabeth than she had originally thought. Even though she herself is a little hesitant to accept their... fine age gap, let's just say.

Jack looks at the hand with something like surprise and confusion, and she sighs. Norrington is a fool to offer Jack his hand- either he doesn't take it, or doesn't know how. He's rather uncivilized, after all.

"Take his hand." She snaps at him, under his breath, and he gives her a sheepish flicker of a glance before he takes it. Norrington, however, does not seem to have _thanks_ in his mind, after all- he yanks up the sleeve of her Captain's arm, revealing, to everyone's horror and her slight embarrassment, a large _P_ brand upon his inner wrist.

Charlie remembers the feeling of it, the puckered skin under her fingertips, and covers her face, intent to hide from the world, and of course, from Jack's implying smile. She has no explanation for the way she had acted then; she has no explanation for the way she is acting in the current.

"Had a brush-up with the East India Trading Company, did you... _pirate?_ "

"Bloody son of a..." She mutters under her breath. She doesn't bother finishing her sentence- everyone knows what happens to caught pirates. And her, for one, cannot believe that Jack would have been so careless to be caught so easily.

In an instant, a hand grabs her wrist and drags her away from the pirate; Norrington's hand is like steel, clamped around her wrist as he narrowly maneuvers her body from being sliced to ribbons by the bayonets that various sailors are aiming at the Captain.

At _her_ Captain.

He stands there, cocks his head; looks at her ever so slightly- _You don't know me._ She digs her nails into her palms, but nod at him ever so slightly. She knows for a fact that he will not appreciate her getting into harm's way, and one movement from Jack will result in a bloodbath, she is sure of it.

"Keep your guns on him, men. Gillette, fetch some irons." The order comes from besides her, and she shakes his arm off her, defiantly, and ignoring the strange look from him, walk around the circle of sailors to Elizabeth. She tries to stay calm on the outside, but in fact her heart is pounding like a drum.

_Irons!_ For Jack Sparrow!

"Sister dear." She crouches down next to her sister. "Are you all right?"

Elizabeth nods, shaking, and her arm comes to rest upon Charlie's- her eyes, however, are on the newly discovered pirate.

Norrington's eyes flicker down to Jack's arm once more and she remembers the emblem of a sparrow tattooed upon his forearm.

"Well, well..." The other man's eyes are smug as he looks down at the pirate. Caught. "Jack Sparrow, isn't it?"

_"Captain Jack Sparrow."_ She hisses under her breath, the same time as Jack says, "Captain Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth looks at her in shock, her eyes tearing away from the two men facing each other to rest on _her_. "Do you know him?"

"Nope." She lies, effortlessly. She is rather good at lying, as one does when they have spent half their lives doing so. "Stories." She tries to explain, but Elizabeth is still eyeing her suspiciously. _Such_ a bother.

"I don't see your ship, Captain." Norrington says, snobbishly.

"He said he'd come here to commandeer one." One of the soldiers say, and she rolls her eyes- again, might she add.

"I told you he was telling the truth." The other one argues. She finds it rather ridiculous that they are _still_ arguing about that. "These are his, sir."

He holds out Jack's pistol and belt, and she looks down, using the tip of her boot to hook his beloved hat around and drag it towards her, slowly. The owner shoots her an appreciative look but she doesn't respond- trying desperately to draw less attention to herself. Apart from Elizabeth, who is watching the hat with hawk-like eyes.

_Oh, lay off._ She wishes desperately to snap at her _adopted_ sister, but she cannot, because, of course, everyone would notice the hat then. And, alas, she supposes she herself is to blame for her sister's curiosity- she taught her the best, after all.

Norrington, meanwhile, is admiring the pirate's possessions.

"It doesn't bear true." He states, confused, his hand clasping the Captain's prized compass. She realizes the hat is within reach, and grabs it, passing it out of sight. Elizabeth reaches for the hat, and knowing how prized this particular possession is, Charlie bats the hand away and places it at the edge of the dock, out of her sister's reach. They have a silent battle with glances; _What are you hiding- Nothing, mind your own business!- I_ will _find out- No you shan't- I_ will- _What are you going to do, ask your future husband?_

"Taking stock," The commodore counts, looking down at Jack rather haughtily and bringing Charlie herself a want to hook him across the jaw, "You've got a pistol with only one shot, a compass that doesn't point north, and no ship. You are without doubt, the worst pirate I have ever heard of."

Jack smirks, and she is aware of the fact that he will say something that either saves their hides or gets them in trouble. "Ah, but you have heard of me." He glances behind him, at her and Elizabeth, and smirks.

The latter, then.

She hears another set of feet hurrying around and dusts her hands off on her breeches, craning her neck in order to see. Gillette turns the corner with the shackles, and with a snap, she watches as one of the most famous pirates in the Caribbean is placed into shackles.

Elizabeth makes a sound of protest from where she is sat on the ground. Charlie, her eyebrows raised, turn towards her, as do all the others.

"Commodore," She tells him matter-of-factedly, "I must protest. Pirate or not, this man saved my life."

Oh, so this is some kind of _debt-owed-and-repaid_ scene, aye?

Instead of listening to the sensible woman, however, Norrington shakes his head- as if none would realize how dire the situation is. "One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness." He states in his haughty high-class accent. Charlie rolls her eyes. This is rather infuriating, isn't it?

"But it seems enough to condemn him." The said man gives a gold-toothed smile towards the audience. Norrington gives him a closed-mouth smile in return.

"Indeed." He nods, solemnly. He nods again, to his men, and all but one stow their weapons. Two step forwards, the ones she realize to be as the schmucks from the harbour, but Jack taps his foot impatiently, as if waiting for something. His eyes flicker towards her, and then towards his hands; _watch me._

With a slight flicker of the wrist, he points upwards. The sky? His face?

Norrington moves towards him.

_Get up!_

She stands up, reflexes fast from lightning from all her years in the deck of a rocking ship, and he sighs.

"Finally." He says, and pushing the men aside, he lunges towards her and wraps his manacle chain around her throat, so that Charlie is trapped between his arms and his body.

All her reflexes scream at her to grab his arm, duck downwards, and flip him over her hip. But he must have a plan- he is Captain Sparrow, master of improvisation- so instead she stays calm, rolling her eyes slightly as cries erupt from the crowd. Pistols are drawn, but she knows for a fact that she is being used as a shield so that none can shoot at the pair of them.

"Amanda!" Her father cries, and simultaneously, Elizabeth yells her name- her _real_ name. The latter shoots up and makes a move towards her, but Sparrow has the chain wrapped around her throat, and pulls at it, forcing her to stagger back with him if she does not wish to choke.

The sailors aim their pistols at her, and she is afraid they are going to shoot- but her father rushes forwards. "No! Don't shoot!" He cries.

"Oh, so you _do_ care." She murmurs under her breath. Jack gives the audience, her included, an amused look.

"I knew you'd warm up to me." He grins.

She breathes deeply, acting as though she is trying to calm herself- and Jack grips her arm, pulling her back with him towards the land. She lets out a cry (for act, it rarely hurts) and follows him.

"Commodore Norrington... my effects, please."

Norrington hesitates. Charlie knows for a fact that he still does care about her, even with her rebellious streak, so watches calmly as he balls his fists in frustration and tears his hair out internally.

"Commodore!" Jack repeats, and tightens the chain around her throat. Her breath shallow, she follows him. Though her shallow breath is not due to the chain around her throat but because of the sensation of his body pressing against hers, his breath against the nape of her neck as he presses the chain against her neck. She suppresses the red forming on her cheeks to the best of her ability.

The plump soldier pushes the pistol and belt to Norrington, who in turn thrusts them at you, looking slightly frantic- trying to look good in front of Elizabeth, eh? She internally laughs, but that laughter is soon stopped when she feels a breath on her ear. Sparrow. The tips of her ears grow red and her breath quickens slightly- but Norrington seems to see that as panic, for he steps forwards. Jack yanks the chain around her neck tighter.

"Amanda- Is it Amanda?" Jack asks, mockingly. She looks back and clenches her teeth- this is purposeful, the _Amanda._ He knows for a fact that she despises that name.

"It's _Charlie._ " She hisses, then adds under her breath, "As you very well know."

"Well, _Charlie,_ if you'd be so kind?" He bumps her against his hip, towards the objects, and she gives him a glare. Acting her part, she turns her nose away from it but he prods her shoulder and she whips around, scowling.

"Come, come, dear. We don't have all day." He smirks lazily.

She glances at Commodore Norrington, who nods in confirmation, and takes them into her hands. Jack grabs her around the shoulder and jerks her, so that Charlie faces him, their faces inches from each other. He brings his arms in, and she realizes what he's doing- bringing _her_ closer to him.

"Now if you'll be very kind?" He smirks, and she feels the heat fanning up on her cheeks again- _stop it-_ and this time is unable to hide her blush as she realizes what she wants him to do.

She grits her teeth. This wasn't the plan- he's _so_ doing this on purpose! But she agreed to aid his escape, so she draws the belt out to its full length.

She hesitates, the belt open on her hands, and he smirks. "Put it on, love."

"I hate you." Charlie squeezes her eyes shut, very much aware that he can see her blushing pink. She reaches around, and her arms are around his waist as she starts to fasten the belt on him, trying to be as far away as possible. She won't go closer. She _won't._

"And to do that, you'll need to go closer." He shakes his head, obviously noticing the distance between the two of them, and yanks his hands in even further. The cool chain catches on the back of her neck.

She stumbles into his chest at the sudden action, and her face presses against his exposed collar. Her mouth is dry and she can't help her cheeks from flushing furiously. She has never been this close to a man before- she hates that it has to be Jack Sparrow, and she hates that it feels... intimate. Oddly good. Whichever word is preferable. She fastens the belt around him, and her shaky hands yank the belt tighter than it should be.

She draws her hands back quickly, flushing.

"Easy on the goods, darling." He winces. She is paralyzed for a moment- _what goods?-_ then gets what he's talking about. Her astonished and slightly horrified face must have been what triggers his laughter.

"No! I never- you didn't- we weren't- I don't-" Charlie's face is as red as it can be, up to the tips of her ears. She feels like her head is going to combust from the heat. She had never thought her first time in the arms of a man would be like this- under such conditions- Jack Sparrow never ceases to amaze her.

"You're despicable," She says out loud, for the crowd, and in a smaller voice hisses, "Jack Sparrow, I am _so_ getting you back for this."

Which she shan't be _thinking about!_

"Sticks and stones, love." His hand, still fastened in manacles, brushes her hair. "Although I am slightly more charming."

She tucks the pistol in his belt, her fingers brushing his stomach. Her eyes widen and she turns back lightning fast. Her nervousness must radiate off her like the waves of the sea- for the men tense, visibly.

He smirks towards her, and starts backing her away, again. "What a lovely lady, threatening to kick me. I hope she's not engaged?" He looks pointedly at the crowd, and she watches as her father's face grows red.

"You do _not_ deserve her!" He squeaks.

He sets his chin on her shoulder smugly, facing the crowd (how can her father's face get _redder,_ impossible!), and steps back; his back hits something, and she has to remind herself to keep her head forwards. His mouth covered by her hair, he whispers into her ear, "I do hope you're giving me back me hat."

Her eyes widen as he kisses the spot behind her ear. How _dare_ he- he- _do that?_ She resists the urge to run away and throw herself into the water. It shan't feel good at all, she's sure of that- but why-

"I'll come find you, savvy?" Jack adds, and stands back upright, addressing the crowd- not giving her a chance to reply.

"Gentlemen, and, ah, m'ladies," He gestures to her, and her sister, and smirks that smirk she's still unused to- "You will all remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."

_Captain Jack Sparrow_ shoves her away, and Elizabeth runs forwards, breaking the lines, and catches her in her embrace. She returns her embrace, one arm around her, but the other is on her ear, touching the spot where his lips had landed _so soon ago._

"Are you alright, Charlie?" Her sister's eyes are wide as she scans her over. "I do hope you're alright. That was a horrible thing the pirate said about you. And touching you in that way-"

"Fine." She has to bite her lip to stop herself from emitting a load of curses- how _dare_ he say that in front of her father!- and instead pushes her sister away, turning around. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Norrington taking careful aim and her boot finds a puddle of water, sloshing it up towards Norrington's clean suit as he shoots. He flinches and the shot goes wide; turning back, Charlie pretends not to have known and watches as Sparrow leaps out of sight.

"Elizabeth!" Charlie hears, and turns to see Norrington's eyes on her sister, frantically searching for any injuries. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," She waves him away (atta girl!) and adds, "Go capture him!" When he stands still. Taken aback by her ire, Norrington hurries away. Only when the port is nearly empty does she turn to her, and clasps her arms. "How was your trip? Did they treat you alright?"

_Oh, I'm supposed to be away on a trip._ "I'm fine, I've already informed you of this," Charlie states, irritated. People doting on her is rather annoying. She notices her father hurrying towards them and greets the worried man, taking a curtsy. "Father, it's a shame to meet like this. I had hoped for a better reunion."

"Amanda-"

"Charlie."

"Amanda, I had hoped you'd be here by yesterday, but I suppose this is good enough- how are you?"

"Quite alright." She crosses her arms. "I've developed a sudden distaste in pirates." She glances dryly over her shoulder at the spot where Jack had last been. "The nerve of speaking about me like that. And treating me that way, too."

"Yes, that horrible man. And may I say, what a coincidence to be seeing you and that pirate on the same time, at the same day!"

"I just got off the dock, father. It was quite a surprise when he pounced on me like that." She blows a strand of hair from her face, but it won't do- she'll have to change the subject. "Liz, you seem rather cold from that dip in the water. How about we get you inside the house? I'll be staying for a few more days, so it shan't be too bad."

"Alright," Elizabeth smiles, her teeth chattering, and their father drapes a coat around her. "Charlie, I do hope you're really alright. You seem skinnier than before."

She pats Elizabeth on the back. "I'm alright. It's probably because of the unflattering clothes."

"I agree." Her father says, and they begin to walk. "Amanda, I must say I do disapprove of your actions. Away for so long, and returning with unfit clothes for a young lady like you? I shall treat you with a warm bath immediately to get the dirt out, and you shall join us for dinner for once-"

Ignoring her father, Charlie hurries over to the edge of the port. "Amanda? _Amanda!_ " Her father cries, rather exasperated.

She pops back up, crossing her arms, a certain tricorn hat upon her head. "Yes, father?"

"I said-" He falters. "What is that on your head?"

"Why, father." She takes it off, and takes a deep bow. "It's my hat. Come on, Elizabeth, you're shivering. Let's get you in a warm bath." 


	9. Chapter 9

"There you go, miss." Estrella smiles at Charlie warmly as she tucks a bed warmer between her sheets. "Welcome home. It was a difficult day for you-" Turning to Elizabeth, another smile- "Both of you, I'm sure."

Charlie is back in their room, feeling freshly clean for the first time in months. The dirt from under her nails is scrubbed clean, all body hair removed, her hair freshly washed. She is dressed in a white nightgown- reluctantly, for her former clothes are hung up in the laundry line, might she add- and her hair is trimmed to a few inches below her shoulders. Her eyes are sparkling with a newfound light, and she places the tricorn hat on her lap before looking across the room.

"For her, that was a day." Charlie nods to her sister, a smirk on her lips. "I knew old Norry would find himself at last. Proposing to Lizzy, now that was a good move. Nice strong woman."

"I suspected Commodore Norrington would propose." Elizabeth looks up from her hands. "But I must admit, I wasn't entirely prepared for it."

Estrella moves on to Elizabeth, lifting the covers. "Well, I meant the pirate at Port Royale, miss. Being threatened- that sounds terrifying."

"Yes!" Elizabeth claps her hands at that. "And that pirate- He was a scoundrel, I could tell. He put his hands on Charlie rather inappropriately, if I may say."

She puts on the hat, trying her best to look indifferent. In all reality, she is worried out of her mind- for none other than Jack. He'd _promised_ to come find her, he'd _promised_ he wouldn't leave her behind, and he'd made promises as dangerous as Davy Jones' Locker back in that island. Now though- she's starting to wonder if he meant any of that, that flirting or that promising, or any of it.

Yet she is still holding onto the hat.

"Well, from my experience, Jack- I mean, pirates, usually act that way." She murmurs distractedly, trying not to think about when he would return for her. "I must admit, he was rather flattering."

Charlie instantly claps a hand over her mouth at that, ignoring the way Elizabeth and Estrella watch her with astonished looks upon their faces. This is not the way Charlie Turner acts! She has no idea what has gotten into mind, but she is mortified by the way her mouth and body have been acting these days, ever since she met Jack Sparrow. She seems to be getting... looser. Freer. It is unsettling, to say at the least.

Although, she must admit, he _had_ been more than flattering...

"Flattering! A pirate! Miss, what has gotten into you lately, if I dare say?"

_That is exactly what I wish to find out_ , Charlie says in her head. She dares not speak that out loud. Instead she takes the hat off and drops it back in her lap, crossing her arms. "I have no clue. Why, I suppose I have been hanging around those sailors too many a times."

"I agree. You should stay at home a few months, Charlie. You _are_ skinnier." Elizabeth frowns. If her of all people admit that she is skinny, it is no doubt both true and very noticeable. Which, to say the least, is both flattering and worrisome. Must have been the island that did it.

Denying the whole thing is much easier than having to explain to her father about the island. "No, I'm getting _leaner,_ and it is quite different, sister dear." She drops her eyes, fingers the edge of the hat. "Talking about you for a change, the commodore proposed. Fancy that."

"Now that's a smart match, too, if it's not too bold to say."

"It _is_ a smart match." A grin plays on the edges of Elizabeth's mouth- which fails to go unnoticed by Charlie. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.

"He's a fine man."

"He's what any woman should dream of marrying."

"Last you checked, _I_ don't dream of marrying ol' Norry." Charlie huffs. She shrugs, then taps the hat. "I would rather marry this hat, in fact."

"That's only because you don't want to marry at all, miss. Wouldn't Commodore Norrington be a fine match- for miss Elizabeth, at least?" Estrella's eyes are just _begging_ for her to agree. She shakes her head and laughs, finding her maid's love for gossip rather hilarious.

"It _is_ a smart match." Charlie's eyes twinkle, and she brings her hands to the back of her head, leaning against the board of her bed. "But, if I may say, that Will Turner is, too."

"Oh, yes, miss Elizabeth!" Estrella claps her hands together, momentarily forgetting about the bed warmer. "That Will Turner is a fine man, if it's not too bold to say."

Elizabeth gives Charlie a betrayed look, then turns back to Estrella- whom she has the power to shut up, unlike her power over Charlie. "That _is_ too bold." She says.

"But you and my brother are rather well put together, for a couple." She looks away, her lips a moue as she cradles the hat in her arms. "I would love to have you as a sister-in-law."

"I already am your sister." Elizabeth points out- "In law."

Charlie flips the hat over- unlike what she would think of Sparrow's possessions, it isn't all that dirty. "All right, all right. Hold your horses, sister dear."

The maid shakes her head- Charlie is rather sure she is used to her madness by now, even if she comes home once every few months. "Missus, it's quite late. Good night."

"Good night." Elizabeth has a mischievous light in her eyes- she looks at Charlie, as if to say, _we are NOT done talking about this._ "You may leave, Estrella."

She bows and leaves the room, obviously expecting them to go to sleep; however, as soon as the door clicks shut, Elizabeth drops all pretends of not caring and stares at Charlie.

"What?" The latter demands. "Stop ogling, sister."

"Something's wrong." Elizabeth accuses. "You seem different, Charlie."

"I've grown an inch taller." She suggests. Elizabeth's mouth quirks up in a grin at that, but she shakes her head. "No, no, that's not it."

Charlie places the hat on the bedside table and watches as the coals glow red in the fireplace. "Well, whatever it is, I have no idea whatsoever, so I wish you the best of luck to find it out."

He isn't coming. Why isn't he coming? Where is he? What is he _doing?_

Her body is in the Swann's home, tucked under thick covers, but her mind is not; it is floating around the city, trying desperately to find the one man that somehow has managed to matter to her. She can't believe she actually helped him escape. She should have just given him a good elbow to the _solar plexus_ and run away- instead, she's stuck here, wondering why the man from the island isn't coming to retrieve his hat.

"What're you thinking about?" Elizabeth asks her. Charlie wonders how she knows, but then realizes that it is rather obvious- she is never this quiet, this calm. She is one to rarely think, and put her actions in front of her.

"Nothing." She says, quietly. She can still remember him, his chest firm against her back. "Just-"

Just then, a _boom_ interrupts her sentence. She looks up, her eyes wide. Was that the sound of...

"Cannons!" Her eyes widen in horror. In her years of pirating, she has heard the same steady sounds over and over- mostly, of course, from her own ship.

But if there are cannons, it means there must be...

Throwing her covers off her, Charlie sprints towards the wardrobe and pulls out anything that can be of handy. She finds piles and piles of dresses, throwing them aside.

"Don't you have any _suitable_ clothing?" She cries. "Elizabeth, learn some fashion!"

"Well, it's not my fault-"

She digs to nearly the bottom of the drawer, and finds a pair of undershorts. She whips them out and look at the next drawer- nothing of use there.

"This will have to do. Tell me what's going on outside." She ducks under her bed and grabs hold of her belt and the belongings strung onto it, which she had insisted to keep with her at all times since she had narrowly avoided a bar fight between a Chinese pirate and a purple-haired french man. She cinches it around her waist so that her nightgown is no longer flowing, instead contained by the strip of leather around her narrow waist. No time for a coat.

Her sister's eyes are wide, and she rushes to the window as per her request. "There's fire, and everyone is running, and... oh, Charlie, I really don't know!"

Charlie's eyes narrow. She grabs the hat from the nightstand and places it above her head, angling it so that it does not cover her eyes this time. She should have kept to her trousers and pirating clothes- but it is too late to regret now. She slips her feet into the boots by her bedstand table and pushes Elizabeth aside, flinging the windows open. She clambers onto the sill, and that is when she turns to her sister.

"Listen, sister dear, stay exactly where you are. I have no doubt this is the work of pirates, and I have no doubt they shall come and find you. Stay safe." Her voice is low, and urgent, unlike the mischievous Charlie who had been in the manor a moment ago. "If you must leave this house, head to the fort- Norrington is there, you should be safe."

"What about you?" Elizabeth cries, rushing forwards. "Leaving without anything! Oh, Charlie-"

"I should be fine." She ignores the cold air against her bare arms, gripping the sides of the window with her palms- she has grown used to wrapping bandages around her hands for grip and protection, so it is rather unfamiliar, but she must deal with it later- and gives her sister a peck on the cheek. "I'm a sailor, Elizabeth, don't you trust your sister?"

She looks down below the second-floor window, at the garden beneath them. Soft dirt. Might be a little hurtful in the ankles, but manageable.

"I-" Before her sister can finish, she climbs out of the window, and jumps; her arms in, her legs drawn up, she tucks herself into a roll as she hits the ground. She comes up running and ignores the astonished boy tending the garden, heading towards the city. It is a much dire situation than what Elizabeth had made out- fires are spreading everywhere, people screaming erratically, and to a chill in her blood, ruffians running around, knives and swords in their hands.

_Pirates._ She sets her gaze towards the dock, barely making out a peculiar ship with black oars, sails, masts, deck, and the like. She frowns. She swears she's seen the ship somewhere before... but no time for that. Tearing her gaze away from the ship, she heads towards a certain place on her mind.

Her brother has to be safe. Dear god, let her brother be safe...

She's just passing an inn when someone grabs her shoulder and turns her around roughly; whipping around, she finds herself face-to-face with a pirate.

"Hello, missy." He grins, showing his putrid breath and yellow teeth. "Nice hat you got there."

She draws her sword. "It's not _my_ hat." She snaps, and stabs him in the gut. He falls to the floor, and she turns around, raising her hand to sheathe her sword when her hand hits a body. Turning around, she bumps into _another_ one.

"'Ello, poppet!" This time he's quicker than her and flings her sword out of her grasp, his dirty knife scraping against her throat. "What's a little lady like you doin' out here?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm _not_ little." She says, simply, and grabs his wrist, twisting it away, and kicks him in his stomach. He folds like a book and she socks him across the face, grabbing her sword and running the hell out of there. The dress is cold and flaps against her thighs- she _really_ shouldn't have put her clothes in the wash- which is ignored with a dissatisfied roll of the eyes from her. That is when she spots the familiar hanging sign of the blacksmiths' forges.

"Finally." She grumbles, under her breath, and sheathes her sword, running full ahead towards the sign. Cannons fire and she ducks on instinct as a wooden pole slams into the place where her head had been a moment ago, but she merely pushes the pole away and reach for the door to the forges as it flings open in her face.

Charlie, snarling, unsheathes her sword and brings the cold blade against her assailant's throat- but lowers it when she realizes who it is.

"Will!" She gasps, in delight, and hugs him; her brother stands there, astounded for a moment before crushing her with an embrace, lifting her slightly into the air. "Put me down, William!"

"Where have you _been?_ " His eyes are wide as he takes in the sight of the girl, from her belt-cinched waist to her white gown to the sword strapped to her side. "What happened?"

She lets him go and stands a few steps back, admiring him as though she has all the time in the world; although they look nothing alike, they are twins, and she takes note of his glowing face, his rolled-up sleeves, and the hatchet in his hand. "You've grown." She states, rather dumbly.

"I have. Unlike you, who is the same as ever, I see."

Charlie punches his arm. "But my swordmanship has improved. You shall see that, later, when all of this is over." She smirks at him- oh, that Jack Sparrow is drilling his traits into her- and he smirks back. "I doubt it."

Oh yes, just like old times. Two twins fighting towards who is better or worse. "Or rather, now. Let's get these scoundrels!"

"Let's get 'em." He agrees, and the two of them launch into battle- her slicing furiously with her sword, desperate to protect her hometown, Will with his hatchet in hand, wielding the weapon against several pirates at once. Amidst the confusion and the cannons, it is rather hard to see who is who, but she can just make out the figure of Will- who collapses to the floor, knocked out by a man that she had previously thought was killed by her own sword.

And Elizabeth.

Charlie's eyes widen and hand clenched around the sword, she dodges swords with her petite form and pushes aside the ones she doesn't, intent to catch up with the pirate with his hands on Elizabeth. She calls out, "That's my friend, you filthy mangy piece of scum! A thousand curses to you!"

He stops. Turns around.

"I don't know what you're talking about, missy, but I'm takin' her."

"Why?" What's so important about Elizabeth? Why do they want her? She has a nagging suspicion it has nothing to do with her being the governor's daughter.

"She invoked Parley, here, and she's being taken to me Captain."

That's not the full story. She intends to get answers out of them- and _fast._ Preferably without Elizabeth being hurt- unlike Charlie, she is not used to pain, sword fighting and the likes.

"Who is your Captain? What is that ship?" She stalks towards them, steps wide, eyes narrowed. "And why- are- you- here?"

"I ain't having to answer no questions, missy." He nervously grins at you, revealing several missing teeth. "An' say goodbye."

Her eyes widen. Goodbye? To whom?

Too late, she realizes. She feels a sharp pain in the back of her head and her eyes widen, her vision doubling as she loses balance. The last thing she can hear is Elizabeth's horrified scream as she sinks to the floor, slowly losing consciousness.


End file.
